


The Everlasting Love of Derek Hale

by Karlikat



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, No happy endings, new relationships, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-23 01:22:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13776684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karlikat/pseuds/Karlikat
Summary: Stiles died on a Tuesday.





	The Everlasting Love of Derek Hale

Stiles died on a Tuesday. 

It was raining, cold and wet, and the kind of day where you sit inside with a cup of hot chocolate and a movie on, a day where you huddle under a blanket and share with others. 

It had been a freak accident, nothing to do with the weather, and everything to do with a random druggie on the side of the road, recognizing the Sheriff’s son’s jeep, the blue a stark contrast to the world outside. 

It had everything to do with the shot that came from that druggie, the miracle shot that somehow managed to blow straight, straight into the head of the Sheriff’s son. 

It had nothing to do with the way that the jeep careened into the ditch, smashing the front, shattering the windshield, and settling with a final groan of old metal meeting its end. Stiles had already stopped breathing by the time that his jeep had hit the ditch.

It had everything to do with the Sheriff himself, who had arrested that druggie countless times, and the druggie, who saw a chance for revenge, even as high as he was. 

It had nothing to do with the way that Stiles was found as the Sheriff himself went home, looking for his son who wasn’t answering his calls and was supposed to bring him lunch but never showed. 

It had nothing to so with the Sheriff, seeing his son’s jeep in the ditch, fearing the worst, but the worst not even coming close to his reality. 

It had nothing to do with the ambulances, sirens wailing, lights flashing, arriving on scene. 

It had nothing to do with Stiles being pronounced dead at the scene, and nothing to do with Stiles, being looked at at the hospital, and the Sheriff, realizing that his son was shot before the accident, and that was the cause of the crash and the cause of his son’s death. 

It had nothing to do with Melissa McCall, who saw as Stiles was wheeled in the hospital, a sobbing Sheriff directly after. He had gone into shock, and could barely function. He just kept calling for his son as tears streamed down his face, mixing with the rainwater that fell from the heaving clouds. 

It had nothing to do with the way that Lydia screamed, long and loud, panicking over who was dead now, and who would be dead next.  
It had nothing to do with Scott, who heard from his mother and left the Clinic immediately, denying that his best friend couldn’t be dead, couldn’t be saved, couldn’t leave him alone. It had nothing to do with the way that Scott, upon arriving at the hospital, fell into his mother’s arms, crying and sobbing, matching her breath for heaving breath, because he might be a werewolf now, but werewolves can still feel grief, and that was so much like his asthma attacks of old that he could only focus on his breathing and not the impossible of reality.

It had nothing to do with the fog or the pouring rain, and everything to do with a druggie who simply picked up a gun, aimed, and shot. 

 

 

Stiles died on a Tuesday and was buried on a Wednesday. 

It was a beautiful day, with clear skies and perfect clouds, not a hint of rain to be seen.

Scott talked about his best friend, about how they started their friendship in the sandbox when they were young, about how Stiles always made sure that Scott had his inhaler, about how Stiles always made sure that Scott was being safe. He talked about Stiles, and about how he would mother his friends, about how he climbed a tree one time and broke his arm and hid it from his father, about how Stiles made Scott skip school to drive to the ocean, about how Stiles took his best friend out once to find a dead body in the woods. 

After his speech, Scott sat down by his mother, sobbing. 

Lydia sat through it all, thinking of the boy who had loved her, and of how they had became friends, albeit reluctantly. He had entered her life in a whirlwind, and she had fallen in love, albeit a sisterly love. She couldn’t help but think about how she could’ve ended up if she had talked to him earlier, of how his wit matched hers perfectly, and how he was just as smart as she was. When she did make friends with him, he was taken away too soon. 

The Sheriff didn’t cry as he lowered his son into the ground, his deputies that helped to raise him by his side. 

Stiles was buried by his mother, with matching tombstones of marble. 

 

 

The Sheriff died on a Thursday, two months after his son. 

He had been shot in the line of duty, and while the wound wasn’t life-threatening, his heart gave out all the same. Everyone knew that he wasn’t able to go on without his son or his wife. 

His funeral was held on a Monday. He was sent off with a 21 gun salute for the years he spent in the military before he married, and there was no one left to collect the flag except Scott, who had accepted with tears in his eyes. It was bad enough that his real father left him, but now his father in all but name was dead and gone, just like his best friend. 

The entire station showed up to the funeral, laying the Sheriff in his grave next to his son, and there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. 

 

It was a Friday when Derek came back to Beacon Hills, rolling into town late at night in his Camaro. He spent the night at his old loft, dust as it was. 

It was Saturday when Derek rolled up in front of the Stilinski house, wanting to surprise Stiles with his reappearance. He wanted to show him how he’d managed to take care of himself, how he’d gone to therapy and fixed himself. 

There was no one at the Stilinski house, just faded scents and dust. 

Derek ran through town, trying his best to find Stiles, the boy who ran with wolves. Instead, he found Parrish, sitting in the Sheriff’s station, wearing the Sheriff uniform. 

 

It was Sunday when Derek ran into Scott, desperately asking about Stiles and where he could be found. 

It was Sunday when Derek found out that Stiles had died, and his father followed a short two months after his son. 

It was a Sunday when Derek knelt in front of Stiles’ grave and finally told him he loved him.

**Author's Note:**

> Well. I was in class, and we were watching a French movie about death and. This?  
> I like death and sad things.  
> I hope you cried.


End file.
